


simplicities

by sonia (aquatulip)



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: F/M, Mother mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquatulip/pseuds/sonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hagakure's trying to figure out how to say i love you, the right way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	simplicities

you don’t say i love you in the right way, you realize one day as you are lounging on your couch in your underwear with a pillow underneath your arm as your mother glides around the kitchen behind you, not doing anything except moving to flick cigarette ashes out of the small window above the stove. when the realization hits you, you start, sitting up and knocking your cola onto your lap. the scene is comical and you swear you hear laughter from the kitchen, but you don’t dare look at your mother when you look like you just got too relaxed on the living couch.

 

quickly, you excuse yourself to the bathroom where you decide to barricade yourself.

 

your thoughts drift back to what you had been thinking before and -- _oh! that’s right_ \-- you realize how insignificant she must think you are. you are patting yourself dry as you think about your makeshift date last night and how when she whispered words that were incomprehensible to you, you replied boisterously -- heartily -- with words that reassured her that no one was looking at her. immediately, you thought she had been speaking of her anxieties and paranoia instead of trying to hear what she had actually said. you do this often, you realize, how you try to guess and pinpoint what is wrong with her -- what is happening in her head -- instead of asking her for explanations. one might think it a chivalrous thing to do, but you’ve just wisened up to the fact that it may not be all it is cracked up to be. you should have been hearing the words that the wind took hold of.

 

once you feel better about your state of affairs, you head towards your bedroom to change, then you all but jump hurdles to make it into the living room to snatch up your phone. when you arrive, your mother is lounging on the couch with her feet on the table and a cigarette hanging from between her lips. for a moment you think she’s going to make fun of you, but instead she lets out a soft snore that causes you to smile to yourself.

 

before you commence your action plan, you fetch your mom a blanket and drape it around her, then take the cigarette from her mouth and place it in the ashtray.

 

heading back to your bedroom, you flick through last night’s conversations until you find her name and press the screen with your pointer finger. promptly, you close your text messaging app and lock your phone as you throw yourself down on the bed. _this is getting ridiculous_ , you think as you move your dreads from your forehead. _she makes me feel seasick_ , you add as an afterthought as you stare up at your ceiling.

 

_but it’s a good feeling._

 

there’s a countdown in your head and as it approaches zero, you take ahold of your phone and you dial her number from memory because you are sickeningly in love with this girl who has oily hair and splotchy skin because she shines as bright as any of the stars in the sky and her fingers weave poetry that no one deserves to hear, and you want to swallow phrases with your hands in her hair, but you can’t even force your hand to hit call.

 

 _zero_ , you think, and your finger moves instinctively, giving you away.

 

the phone rings more than once -- more than twice -- more than three times, then she answers with a bleary voice that shakes and rattles and moans. “y-y-yes, wh-what?” she stutters out, clears her throat, and you can see her rolling her eyes and grimacing.

 

“hey, toukocchi!” you exclaim too loudly; she winces on the other line and you know this from experience as she hisses her discontent. “just was wondering something…” you trail off as though you are uncertain and she is waiting for you impatiently to finish your thoughts, but you swallow your own words and search for a diversion away from the subject. it seems awkward and unnecessary now. as though this call was never meant to happen because none of these words sound important, even though you know they are. her voice deserves to be heard and you can’t stand thinking that you have just let her words escape you.

 

“what?” she finally says harshly, but not unkindly.

 

you choose to wait another handful of sand from your life’s hourglass before you finally open your mouth to try and speak. “what did you wanna say last night?” you question gently.

 

on the other end of the line, you can’t predict her reaction; your voice takes on a softness that you are not familiar with and the whole atmosphere surrounding the two of you changes. she’s letting her sand slip through her fingers as she sits -- _maybe she’s standing?_ \-- at her desk -- _in her room?_ \-- and searches for the poems that are lurking behind bone, tangled in her veins. those are the words that she always chooses to give to him, even if he can’t always understand them, even if sometimes they are foreign. “wh-what do you mean?” she asks slowly, but she knows and you know that she knows by her tone of voice, but you don’t press her there.

 

“i interrupted you last night and i’ve been trying to figure out what you could have said, but i guess i won’t know unless i ask ya!” you chuckle as though you don’t feel the gravity of the seriousness of this conversation sitting on your shoulders. you laugh as though life is fleeting and you don’t want this girl to stay in your life forever.

 

she inhales sharply and you want to press your fingertips to the crease in her brow and try to soothe it. “i wasn’t going to say anything… not really…” she is chewing on something -- her lip or maybe a pencil or a pen. “i don’t remember…?” it sounds like a question.

 

“that’s fine!” this time you laugh and it sounds nervous. “sorry for bugging ya!”

 

she exhales longer than necessary and you wish you could be there to reassure her over her anxieties. “n-no… it’s... “ fine, you smile to yourself, “...a-anything else?”

 

“nope!” you say and then, “had a great time last night! i’m really glad we went out again!”

 

when the line goes quiet, you know that she’s whispering those words to the wind again and still they are slipping through your fingers. the breeze takes them away and you shut them out when you close the window.

 

* * *

 

the next time that you see her is in the hallways. when she sees you, she looks as though she’s already looking for an exit, so you just wave to her and pass by. you can take things as slow as she needs them. you’d like to take things as slow as she needs them.

 

she lifts her hand away from her book in the tiniest wave and you don’t see her again until after school. she’s waiting for you by the front doors and when you see her, your heart does a somersault in your chest. other people turn their noses up at her, but she’s radiant. a supernova that is contained within a human vessel. you wonder what kind of power her fingertips hold as your hand sits a little too close to hers.

 

you offer to walk her home, but she looks annoyed with your offer, so you worry your lip before reassuring her that her place is definitely before yours and plus! you don’t have to ride that stinky ol’ bus! she smiles something secret in response, as though she knows that you know that the bus is a dangerous, bad place to be. too many strangers mingled with fellow students. walking home is also bad and dangerous, but with you it might not be so bad to her. there’s a warmth in your chest as you hold the door open for her and then rush faithfully back to her side.

 

and on your way home, when your fingers brush her skin, you find yourself with the courage to hold her hand, because this is a better way to say i love you. it doesn’t interrupt her, and when you squeeze her hand reassuringly, she returns to her relaxed slouched position as she walks.

 

you walk her all the way home with minimal conversation because you know that she likes the silence sometimes. everything can weigh down so heavily on her, so you like to remind her that you can shoulder some of it for her. sitting in silence with all her troubles shifting between the gaps of your intertwined fingers is bliss for you, and you hope it is somewhat good for her too. when you stop at her house, she looks up at you and shields her eyes from the sun. “i…” you bite down on your tongue before the words can creep out of your mouth.

 

right now, you want to kiss her so badly that your legs are shaking, but you can’t find the words to tell her that you love her, so you just give her a crooked smile as you disentangle your fingers from hers. you consider inviting her over for dinner, but you know your mom will be at home sleeping, plus you’d rather not have them in the same room together for more than a couple of hours.

 

it isn’t as though you’ve never kissed her before either, so this is just pathetic -- this feeling of utter shyness that chases your courage all around your body. she makes you feel at war with yourself, which isn’t a bad thing. “the other n-night…” she says and drops her gaze away from you. “wh-what i was going t-to say…” and your brain has the audacity to try to interrupt her so you stand with your tongue between your teeth a little longer. everything is whirling around you too fast until you no longer are sure if there is land beneath your feet and the realization that you have utterly no clue what she’s said dawns on you after a moment of chasing your thoughts.

 

the look she gives you is one of annoyance.

 

“toukocchi,” you say with a touch of forlornness in your voice -- or something akin to it. “i’m sorry,” you say, but she’s already turning away from you with a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “toukocchi!” you repeat desperately.

 

“i was trying to figure out how to say…” you look away from her as her gaze follows yours.

 

“tr-trying to say…” her nose flares and you know her mind is jumping to the worst conclusion possible, but your fingertips are skimming the skin of her arm to try to anchor her to this moment for seconds more.

 

“i love you,” you almost mumble. “i was thinking about how i always fudge it up somehow in between everything. i always am interrupting you or missing your words or doing things that annoy you, so i don’t know what i’m doing right or what i’m doing wrong, but i wanted to be doing this right.” you say and you feel miserable and embarrassed, but when she smiles your heart immediately stops beating in your chest and a giddy feeling replaces the embarrassment. you want to pick her up and spin her around (but you know better than that).

 

it is a fragile hint of a smile that creeps slowly into exuberance. her fingers clasp one another and you are wondering if this moment is real and true. the happiness that is on her face is happiness that you want to make sure stays there forever. you feel yourself smiling dopily as you stand before her with your feelings laid out in the open. “hh,” she covers her mouth in an attempt to hide her smile, but you lean down and take her hands in yours.

 

you kiss each and every one of her fingertips, then her palms. every kiss is an i love you.

and when she reaches up to kiss your cheekbone, you know that’s an i love you too. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was a commission ! feel free to commission me @versempress


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